


Back Now

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Everything Turns Out Okay In The End, Flashbacks, Mpreg, TW: Blood, tw: mentions of potential miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I mean, it’s probably best to stop for now, don’t you think? We’ve got to get plenty of rest now, especially if Alice is asleep so early, she’ll wake up in just a few hours and this might be the first night we can sleep for more than six hours to begin with…” John rambled, chewing on his lower lip as he pulled away from Sherlock. </p><p>“The first night we can sleep for more than six hours since she was born and you want to actually sleep?” Sherlock asked incredulously, leaning back to look at John, baffled. </p><p>“What else would we do?” John asked, with the tone of one who knew exactly what else they could do. </p><p>“Fuck,” Sherlock replied with enthusiasm.</p><p>NOTE: A lot of angst here and flashbacks to a dangerous and graphic birth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Now

**Author's Note:**

> A commission from Nancy. Want to commission me? Go here: http://annabagnell.tumblr.com/commissions
> 
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> 
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The baby was asleep (finally) the dishes were clean, the trash taken out, the flat cleaned (or, at least, cleaner than it had been since Alice was born), and John and Sherlock were stretched out on the sofa, television quiet enough to be nothing more than background blur as they enjoyed each other’s company. 

 

And as things often do, ‘enjoying each other’s company’ quickly turned into ‘snogging each other senseless’. 

 

Sherlock nipped at John’s lip in the way that always made John whimper with need, and in recourse John slipped a hand down to grab at Sherlock’s arse, squeezing it between his short fingers and pulling them closer together. Sherlock moaned and then buried his face in John’s shoulder to stifle the noise, hoping Alice wouldn’t choose that moment to wake up and start to squall. 

 

She didn’t. 

 

Soon it seemed as though their activity was growing slightly too frenzied for the sofa, and John apparently cottoned on at the same time Sherlock did. Eager to move locations, Sherlock sat up, bringing John with him and breaking away to murmur “bedroom?” at the same time John said “Probably best to stop for now.” 

 

Sherlock had nearly been ready to compromise and stay where they were, anticipating that John would protest their bedroom was too close to Alice’s upstairs cot and that their activities might be too loud, but that they would _stop_ hadn’t even made an appearance on his list of possibilities. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I mean, it’s probably best to stop for now, don’t you think? We’ve got to get plenty of rest now, especially if Alice is asleep so early, she’ll wake up in just a few hours and this might be the first night we can sleep for more than six hours to begin with…” John rambled, chewing on his lower lip as he pulled away from Sherlock. 

 

“The first night we can sleep for more than six hours since she was born and you want to actually _sleep_?” Sherlock asked incredulously, leaning back to look at John, baffled. 

 

“What else would we do?” John asked, with the tone of one who knew exactly what else they could do. 

 

“Fuck,” Sherlock replied with enthusiasm, leaning forward to kiss his Alpha and hoping that John’s pitiful resolve would crumble, resulting in having an arseful of doctor buried deep inside him for the first time in four months. 

 

John made a noise of reluctant regret and gently pushed Sherlock back, frowning. “I…not tonight,” he said. “I think you - I think we need sleep.” 

 

“I disagree,” Sherlock said after a long, evaluative pause. 

 

“I know you do,” John replied, and switched off the television. 

 

————

 

_Flashing lights outside, paramedics running into the flat and picking a motionless Sherlock up from the floor, blood dripping dark and thick from between his legs._

 

_John didn’t know whether to fear for Sherlock’s life or for their child’s more._

 

_————_

 

Alice started sleeping through the night more regularly after her four-month birthday, and both Sherlock and John were relieved to feel caught up, if not yet in excess of, sleep for the first time in ages. Sherlock continued to make advances, and John continued to reject them, and eventually Sherlock decided to try a slightly different approach. 

 

Which was why, after a luxurious seven hours of sleep, John awoke to find Sherlock grinding back against him, arse slick with lubricant and John’s cock rapidly welcoming the warm, pliant flesh it was presented with. Sherlock was making small grunting noises as he tried to back up onto John’s prick, and he rumbled with frustration as the head of John’s cock glanced over his open hole and then slipped right past. 

 

John steeled himself for a world of backlash and rolled to the other side, half-convinced he could hear his prick screaming in frustration that may have rivalled Sherlock’s. The Omega was instantly up on his knees, looming over John, forehead beaded with sweat and eyes pooled black with arousal. “Why?” he asked, half-begging, looking desperate and upset. “Is it because of the - because I’m not fit as I was? Or the scar? I can start dieting, I’ll lose it I promise-“ 

 

“No no no, god no, stop that,” John replied instantly, sitting up and capturing Sherlock’s wrists gently, stilling his protests. “It’s not that at all, I promise, and besides, you’re hardly out of shape.” 

 

“Then what _is_ it?” Sherlock asked, disheartened and confused. John’s heart ached to hear him this way, and he pulled the Omega down onto his lap, holding him close. 

 

He took a deep breath. “With Alice, you were...” 

 

\--------

 

_In the back of the ambulance, the sirens deafening even inside the metal box, watching Sherlock’s vitals come and go as the medics tried to stabilise him. “Please, Sherlock, hang on for me. For her...”_

 

_John’s tears wetted his jumper and Sherlock’s shirt, rolled down his cheeks and hit the floor of the vehicle, falling next to a few spare drops of blood that had dripped from the edge of the table._

 

_The medics apologised as they pushed John back against the wall, made him watch as they shoved a tube down Sherlock’s throat and pumped air into his lungs, trying to sustain not only his body but the little one he carried inside him._

 

_\------------_

 

Sherlock was still on his lap, the desperation and sadness having slowly left his eyes and been replaced by a sort of understanding. “But...I...that was months ago,” he said quietly, sliding off John’s legs and curling up in the sheets beside the doctor. “I’m healed, the doctors said so. Fit for...normal activity,” he added, fiddling with the sheet’s edge nervously. 

 

“I know that,” John replied, running a hand over his face in self-deprecating exasperation. “Yeah, I know that, but I just can’t...we can’t risk it, I can’t risk anything so soon after...I know the chances of you getting pregnant are ridiculously small outside of a heat but god, knowing you - knowing _us,_ you’d be pregnant right away. And I can’t...” He looked up at Sherlock, hoping his mate would understand. 

 

Sherlock, thankfully, was nodding slowly. “I know. You’re probably right,” he said with a pathetic laugh. “It would be just our luck. We aren’t ready for another baby anyhow. Alice is only just five months...” 

 

John sighed in relief. “I’m glad you understand.” 

 

“I do,” Sherlock replied. “But I can’t just be celibate, John. And I don’t think you enjoy it, either. We need to figure out an alternative solution until we’re both ready.” 

 

Feeling a rush of relief and agreement bubble up inside him, John nodded. “You’re right. We’ll get it figured out soon. I promise.” He smiled. 

 

Sherlock smiled back, and John looped an arm around the Omega’s shoulders and pulled him close. Pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder, John was working up the courage to ‘figure something out’ right then and there when Sherlock suddenly sat bolt upright, then scrambled out of the bed. “Alice is awake,” he called over his shoulder, and John caught the briefest glimpse of Sherlock’s bare-naked arse running out of the bedroom before he buried his face in the pillow, laughing hysterically with a mixture of relief and humor. 

 

\------------

The remainder of the day passed quickly, for reasons John and Sherlock couldn’t quite pin down. Perhaps it was the knowledge that they had come to an understanding of each other, at last, or maybe it was the anticipation of what might come after Alice was asleep again.

At some point during the day, Sherlock realized they were both just waiting for their daughter to fall asleep, and he felt rather guilty for it. He gathered the baby up in his arms and held her close, enjoying her gurgling laughs and toothless smiles as he made faces and played with her. John, for his part, stayed back for only a few minutes, allowing Sherlock time to play with Alice before joining in, bringing a small crocheted octopus doll (a gift from Sarah, at Sherlock’s baby shower) and letting her grab at and suck on the soft tentacles.

“That’s my silly girl,” John cooed, using another of the octopus’s arms to tickle Alice’s belly. “That’s my beautiful silly little girl.”

Sherlock chuckled and bounced his daughter up and down in his arms, the baby squealing delightedly as she grabbed at her favorite toy. Soon she appeared worn out by the activity, interspersing giggles with wide yawns. “Is Miss Alice tired?” Sherlock asked, reaching up to brush her wispy hair off her forehead. “All tired out from playing with Mr. Octopus. Do you think it’s time to put her down for a nap, John?” he asked, cradling the tired baby close as she stretched and yawned in his arms.

“Might be, yeah,” John agreed, and gave Alice one last tickle with Mr. Octopus before tossing him into the now-standard pile of toys in the corner of the sitting room. “I can put her down, if you want?” he offered, reaching out to take Alice from Sherlock.

“That would be fine,” Sherlock replied, idly massaging his chest as John stood up. “I’ll need to feed her straight after she wakes up, though. I may have to pump before that, even,” he mused, sighing and letting his hand fall from his chest.

John suppressed a small shudder of sudden desire as he hoisted Alice up, supporting her head gently with one hand. “Be back soon,” he murmured, treading up the stairs and into Alice’s nursery, where soft lights illuminated the room and cast a gentle glow along the walls. Against John’s shoulder, Alice yawned, one fist beating John’s jumper a few times before the flailing died down and became more of a pat. “That’s my darling girl,” John whispered, smiling and pressing a kiss to the side of her downy head. 

Sitting down in the rocker, John lowered Alice until she was cradled just over his lap, her head curled into the crook of his arm as she snuffled sleepily. He watched her in what was now routine awe, unable to keep the smile from his face. The baby yawned again, wide and toothless, her eyes squeezed shut in a strangely Sherlock-like expression. God, she was Sherlock all over. She’d looked like him from the day she was born...

 

\----------

 

_“Sir. Doctor Watson, sir.”_

_John looked up from his paper cup of coffee, scalding hot but still he’d taken a sip and with it had taken the top layer of skin on the inside of his mouth. Now he set it down, noting disgustedly that the tremor in his left hand was gone. “Yes?”_

_“We’ve got him stabilised, for now. But we need to -“_

_John’s head was in his hands, heaving deep breaths of relief. “Thank god. Oh, thank god.”_

_“Doctor Watson, we need to know...we’re prepping him for delivery. The risk of his body trying to shut down again due to the trauma is...higher than usual, with the added stress. We need to know, if it comes down to it, we need to...who should we...”_

_“Sherlock. Always Sherlock.”_

_\------------_

_The surgeon’s scrubs were bloody, so bloody, there was red staining around his wrists where the gloves had stopped and the blood hadn’t. Sherlock’s blood. John had never had so much sudden, chilly sympathy for families before, families waiting, like he was, to know - he’d always been on the other side of the news, the side of “I’m sorry, we did all we could.”_

_“Doctor Watson?” the surgeon asked, as if he didn’t know, as if it wasn’t obvious._

_“Yeah, that’s me,” John replied, unable to open his eyes._

_“Congratulations, Doctor. It’s a girl.” John gasped. The baby - it had made it. She...she had made it._

_“And Sherlock?” he asked, feeling a pang of guilt for pushing away the news of his fatherhood to ask about his mate. He wished, suddenly, desperately, that he hadn’t had to ask._

_“Still unconscious, but stable. We’ve started him on a new blood transfusion, his vitals seem to be picking up. The worst of it is over - if he wakes up within a few hours of taking him off the anaesthesia, odds are he’ll recover fully.”_

_If the doctor said anything else, John didn’t hear him. He was too busy drenching his jumper with his own tears._

_\--------_

_The nurse fetched John another cup of coffee - too hot, again, and too much cream, but beggars can hardly be choosers - when she came to take him to the nursery. John followed placidly, determinedly not looking at any of the delivery rooms they passed along the way - that was how this was supposed to happen, not in a cold, sterile operating room, not without John by Sherlock’s side, giving him encouragements and watching as their daughter was born._

_But then - there she was. Brand-new, almost oddly pink, John thought, and swept the thought away as another nurse inside caught him looking and went to pick up the baby with a small, tender smile. She cooed softly as she pushed the door open with her hip and walked toward John, waiting until the doctor had schooled his arms into the proper position before depositing the newborn into the cradle he’d made. “All her stats are good,” the nurse said, and John looked up at her briefly in acknowledgement, nodding for a second before turning his attention back to the baby in his arms. “Strong little thing. She made it through, no problem, no fuss.”_

_“She gets that from her dad,” John replied quietly, and the nurse knew that John didn’t mean himself._

_\----------_

A soft knock on the door brought John out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Sherlock leaning against the doorway. “Hey,” John said, a chill he hadn’t known he was holding draining out of him at the sight of his mate. 

“You’d been up here for awhile. I wasn’t sure if you were having trouble putting her to bed or...” Sherlock trailed off and John shook his head. 

“Having trouble putting her down, more like,” John replied, glancing down at the peacefully sleeping baby in his arms. “I was just thinking.” 

Sherlock crossed the room and sank to the floor next to John, his temple resting against the side of John’s thigh. He craned his head back and looked up. “About what?” 

John sighed, shaking his head. “You,” he admitted. “Alice. The day she was born. How scared I was. I was...bloody terrified. I thought I’d lost both of you, and I was just so...” he shook his head again. “I dunno. Hollow. Like everything that was a part of me was gone. I couldn’t even think about what I’d do. Even now...I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost _you._ I don’t know which would be worse...losing you, or her, or losing you both. I can’t-“ 

Sherlock cut John off as the man let out a broken noise, his arms tightening ever so slightly around the tiny body in his arms. He pushed himself up onto his knees, turning to wrap his arms around John and Alice. “Ssh, quiet,” he breathed, pushing his nose into John’s jumper and inhaling. “You don’t have to know. You have us both.” 

\----------

In the end it was Sherlock who put Alice down for her nap, because John was too shaken and spent to do it himself. He propped his face against one palm and sat in the rocker as Sherlock eased Alice out of his lap, bouncing the baby a few times to lull her to sleep before setting her down in her bassinet, amongst toys and blankets, warm and safe. He returned to John’s side and slowly pulled the wrecked Alpha to his feet, holding him as close as he had done to Alice and letting the doctor’s tears soak silently into Sherlock’s shirt. 

John pulled away after a few minutes and swiped a sleeved arm under his nose. “Let’s go back downstairs,” he said wetly. “Don’t want to wake her.” 

Sherlock nodded in reply and let John lead the way, letting the Alpha try to regain his composure as they made their way down the stairs. John collapsed on the sofa immediately, and Sherlock hesitated for a moment before lying down next to John, dropping his head softly into John’s lap, facing outward. to his relief, John slowly slid his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, combing through the curls slowly and soothingly. 

“I think I’m done now,” John said after many long minutes of silence. “I think that’s all I needed to do. Was have a good cry about it. ‘Cause I hadn’t done that yet, and I feel a lot better now.” His voice was still thick with residual emotion, but he sounded greatly relieved. 

“I’ve no doubt you do,” Sherlock agreed. “I’m just sorry it took this long to get to that point. If I had - if I had known, or...thought about how it may have made you feel...I could’ve said something, done something, ages ago-“ 

“It _wasn’t_ your fault,” John insisted, his fingers stilling briefly on Sherlock’s head before resuming motion once more. “I never said anything about it, I just kept hoping if I ignored it it’d go away. That was my doing, not yours, and you’ve nothing to apologise for.” 

“I’m still sorry,” Sherlock replied, slightly petulantly, and John huffed with laughter. “What?” 

“I never in my life thought you would get defensive about apologising,” he said, and even Sherlock had to smile. 

\-----------

John seemed true to his word, no longer half so hesitant to touch or be touched as he had been prior to their talk. Lingering hands on shoulders, holding hands when they were out and about, sweet, slow kisses with the telly droning on in the background after Alice was down for bed. Sherlock didn’t push or rush him - even eager as he was, the last thing he wanted to do was give John any more reason to hesitate. 

“Want to take you to bed,” came the whisper, at last, one night nearly a week after their talk. John’s voice in Sherlock’s ear, his hand possessively wrapped around Sherlock’s hip, bodies pressed close on the sofa. Sherlock shuddered and held back a quiet moan at the words, and nodded against John’s shoulder. He allowed the Alpha to pull him to his feet, and then wrapped himself around John, his hands cupping the doctor’s skull and ducking down to kiss him hard. John made a noise of undeniable agreement against Sherlock’s lips, and somehow, miraculously, they managed to stumble their way to the bedroom, clinging to each other desperately. 

Shirts flung off, belts slipping from loops and slithering to the floor, trousers and pants abandoned on the hardwood and both men were tumbling into bed, breaths a cacophony of pitches and whines as they reacquainted themselves with the nuances of each other’s bodies. 

John shifted, and Sherlock spread his legs wide in invitation, and both men stopped. 

“Not-“ 

“Oh, I-“ 

“Yes, god yes, just not that-“

“Sorry, instinct.” Legs closed once more, John straddled those lean thighs, their cocks rubbing together and causing unholy amounts of pleasure to spark in both men’s bellies. John reached down and closed his hand around as much of their rigid flesh as he could reach, and Sherlock choked back a cry as he started to stroke, sweat and copious pre-come lubricating each slick slip of John’s dextrous hands. Sherlock’s legs found their way looped around John’s thighs, pulling himself closer and pushing John harder against his cock, and one of those pale long-fingered hands cast itself over an angular face, muffling shouts and shudders that increased in volume and frequency as John’s pace picked up. 

_Finally._

John couldn’t hold back his grunt, and Sherlock only half-managed to stifle his keen as he pulsed hot and wet against John’s hand, his release painting already damp skin as waves of pressure and pleasure hit him again and again, pulsing through his lower body and making him shake and tremble in John’s hold. John, close to the edge himself, pulled Sherlock’s hand away from his eyes and watched the desperation and pleasure flood the Omega’s face, a pale chest heaving, rising, falling too quickly to catch his breath. John bent forward, managed one, two more strokes, and then covered Sherlock’s spend with his own, rasping out curses and blessings as he came and spilled over both their bodies. 

John collapsed, boneless, next to an already nearly comatose Sherlock, whose smile was silly and broad with bliss. He grinned at the Omega and then pulled him close, happily ignorant of the sweat and come drying on both their bodies. Pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s ratty, disheveled curls, John allowed himself several long, peaceful minutes of silence and recovery, the only noise that of their breaths returning to normal pitch and duration. He was just on the precipice of a well-deserved rest when he felt Sherlock draw in a deep breath, and he looked down at Sherlock’s head, pillowed on his chest. 

The detective looked up, a glimmer of mirth in his eyes and a smile spreading his lips wide. “I don’t know how you _ever_ thought we could be celibate.” 

\------------

Intimacy made its way back into their schedule, and both Sherlock and John could see the effect it had on their relationship. It seemed...easier, now, even with Alice in the mix - it was easy enough to just let things happen as opportunities presented themselves. The baby was sleeping soundly through the night, giving the pair ample time to rest and recover from work schedules and cases (just little ones, for now - neither man could bear the thought of leaving little Alice with a sitter, even one as reliable as Mrs. Hudson, for longer than a few hours). 

Alice celebrated her eight-month birthday with Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson, down in their landlady’s flat, at her insistence. Eight months wasn’t much of a milestone, really, but their landlady seemed determined to celebrate something, regardless. There was a small cake - home-baked and frosted - for the trio to eat, and Sherlock even conceded when John insisted on feeding Alice just a small bite, mostly frosting. The baby smacked her lips and pulled a face at the sweetness of it - “Not at all like mummy’s milk, is it?” Mrs. Hudson cooed, and Sherlock and John didn’t even try to disguise their giggles. Alice, for her part, laughed along, tongue coated green with frosting. 

“Eight months old,” Mrs. Hudson mused, as the baby rested in Sherlock’s arms, dozing peacefully. “Hard to believe that much time has passed. It doesn’t seem it, does it? Seems like just last week you two were down here, telling me the happy news.” Mrs. Hudson smiled, resting her chin on her hands, gazing at Alice. “I would think before too long there’ll be another one, won’t there? I’ve heard it’s best to have a sibling when the first is a year and a half old - close enough to be playmates, you know, but far enough apart to prepare for a second baby.” 

Sherlock blinked and narrowed his eyes at the woman sitting across the table. “I- Mrs. Hudson, you do remember the circumstances of Alice’s birth, do you not?” he inquired, looking incredulous. 

“Of course I do, dear,” she replied, as though Sherlock were a rather ignorant but well-loved child. “But you’re all healed up now, yes? And you do want more, don’t you both?” She asked, looking across at John. 

“Well, I...we hadn’t really discussed it yet,” John admitted. “I mean...we haven’t even, you know. We’re not really ready for another just yet.” 

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes widened in shock. “You don’t mean - you two, John - are you telling me you boys haven’t jumped in the sack yet?” 

John cut her off with an indignant, stifled shout, and Sherlock looked taken aback, pulling Alice even closer against his body as if to shield her from Mrs. Hudson’s unexpected exclamation. “No, we - not that it’s really any of your business, but - no, we haven’t - neither of us have been ready...” 

“ _I’ve_ been ready-“ 

“Hush, you, no, we haven’t. I mean, we have done - you know what?” John said, nodding definitively and shaking his head at the same time, “That’s not a question I really want to answer.” 

“The answer’s fairly obvious in and of itself, dearie,” Mrs. Hudson said, eyes glittering and smiling entirely too knowingly for John to be comfortable. “Here, have more cake. Heaven knows I don’t need this whole thing, I have to watch my figure, you know.” 

\-------------

“If I’d known Mrs. Hudson accusing you of not fucking me properly would have gotten you to fuck me properly, I’d have asked her to celebrate weeks ago,” Sherlock panted, hitching his leg up even higher as John worked at his opening with two lubed fingers. 

“Shut up or I’ll stop,” John threatened, and Sherlock shut up. 

\----------

_“Mr. Watson?”_

_“Doctor,” John corrected absently, shifting the baby in his arms slightly before he looked up at the nurse standing before him._

_“My apologies, it’s just that Mr. Holmes is awake, and he wants to see you. And her,” the nurse amended, but John was already standing and gathering the diaper bag from the chair next to him._

_“Take me to him,” John said, and looked down at the baby, swallowing hard. “She’s going to take us to go see Daddy.”_

_Sherlock was sitting up in bed, IVs taped to both arms and looking thoroughly bored when John made his careful way in the room. The detective turned to look as the diaper bag hit the door with a soft crash, and John couldn’t have torn his eyes away from his mate’s if the world depended on it._

_“Hey.”_

_“Hello. Is that - of course it is. Stupid. I...”_

_“Yeah, she’s-“_

_“You haven’t named her, have you? If you have it had better not be anything abominable,” Sherlock said, his words tired but equal parts acerbic and joking._

_“Yeah, meet Euphenia,” John replied, and grinned as Sherlock looked up, horrified. “Joking. No, she doesn’t have a name yet. Baby Girl Holmes-Watson, for the past six days.”_

_“Six...six_ days? _” Sherlock looked taken aback._

_“Yeah. You were...out. For awhile. You started coming out of it late yesterday, finally. I was.” John swallowed. “Worried.”_

_“I’m back now,” Sherlock assured, and for a moment John could ignore the pallor of Sherlock’s skin, the way his voice sounded eternally hollow._

_He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Do you want to hold her? She hasn’t met her daddy yet,” he said, proud that his voice was almost strong enough to mask the tremble._

_“Daddy,” Sherlock murmured, and held his arms out. John stepped toward the bed and leaned down, catching the softest swirl of Sherlock’s scent as he carefully laid the baby in his mate’s weak arms._

_“Hello, little one. The nurses told me you were beautiful, but I thought it was just something they told all fathers. They were wrong.” Sherlock swallowed, and John heard the catch to his voice. “You’re not just beautiful. You’re perfect.”_

_\--------EPILOGUE---------_

“You do know that sometime - years from now, most likely, but sometime - Alice is going to realise that her baby brother or sister was born nine months after her first birthday, don’t you?” Sherlock asked, panting breaths interrupting between phrases. 

“It’s _not my fault_ that your heat came the day after her birthday,” John grunted, pushing Sherlock’s thighs wider and sliding a third finger in alongside the first two, tearing a howl from Sherlock’s throat. “But I can stop if you want to, and we can wait,” he continued, pausing and peering up at Sherlock’s flushed face.

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” Sherlock replied, and keened as John’s middle finger brushed over the nub of his prostate. “For the love of - would you kindly get inside me already?” he asked, the demand in his voice slightly lessened by the needy pitch of his voice. 

John chuckled and withdrew his fingers, wrapping one arm around Sherlock’s waist and hoisting the Omega’s hips into the air. Sherlock couldn’t keep the whine stifled, and the pillows had all been tossed off the bed long ago, flailing arms and rough rutting having pushed them all to the edge, along with the duvet and one sweaty bedsheet. He was reduced to muffling his noises with his upper arm, but before long he’d be too far gone to even remember that was a thing he could _do._

John’s cock was hot and hard and _perfect_ inside Sherlock’s body, filling him and nudging at the seal of his reddened, heat-engorged womb each time the doctor thrust in. John could feel the opening widen little by little as Sherlock grew tighter around him, John’s cock swelling with his knot as his body prepared to release and fill Sherlock up with another baby. 

The Omega was keening loudly as John’s pace increased little by little, and he flung one arm up to brace himself from hitting the headboard with each rough thrust. His orgasm took him by surprise as the opening inside his body dilated fully, allowing John to reach the most secret, inner part of his tract. The nerves there, sensitive after months of no stimulation, sparked and lit up with pleasure Sherlock only ever felt during his heats, triggering an orgasm more powerful than he ever experienced outside of rut. 

John’s body responded in kind, the pulsing of Sherlock’s inner muscles and the gush of warm fluid around the head of his cock reducing him to wordless grunts as he buried himself as deeply inside Sherlock’s body as he could, panting as his knot expanded and locked their bodies together. He felt spent and weak-limbed as his cock pulsed little by little, spilling his seed inside Sherlock’s fertile womb, the sheer quantity nearly ensuring that Sherlock would be pregnant after his heat was over. 

Sherlock, for his part, grinned loopily at his mate as the Alpha shook and loosened his grip on Sherlock’s hips. The doctor’s brow was furrowed, his eyes closed in something approaching blissed-out exhaustion, sweat beading on his skin and dripping from his hair. He cracked one eye open and looked up at Sherlock, whose curls spread in a bed-headed halo on the sheets. One blond eyebrow quirked as Sherlock’s grin widened, and Sherlock wriggled on John’s cock happily. 

“Again.” 

 


End file.
